


Open Up

by TheseusInTheMaze



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Complicated Emotions, Crying, Cunnilingus, F/F, Injury, Spoilers for Revolution of the Daleks, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:35:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28522536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: Yaz has some feelings, now that the Doctor is back.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Comments: 10
Kudos: 91





	Open Up

**Author's Note:**

> This has been rattling around in my head since I saw the special, and I _had_ to get it out. Hope you enjoy!

"How d'you feel about pomeranians?" The Doctor's voice had more of that intense chipperness in it that was starting to grind on Yaz's nerves, and she tried not to grimace. 

"Never been a fan of dogs," she told the Doctor, her eyes on the console. She was holding on to the one particular spot she always held on to, when they were traveling. She, Ryan, and Graham all had their particular spots, with human safe handholds. 

The Doctor had even labeled them with little sticky notes. 

Ryan and Graham's were still there, looking forlorn amongst all the knobs and dials covering the console. 

Yaz could, in theory, grab those now - they weren't in use anymore, after all, and it was always nice to know where on the console it was safe to put your hands, especially during an especially rocky trip. 

And yet. 

"These people aren't exactly pomeranians," the Doctor said, and she was dashing around, flipping switches and turning dials. "They've got a distant ancestor who was one. Sort of. Kind of. There's some goanna in there too, and I think a little bit of penguin." 

"Is this like when your cat gets out in heat and you get five different colored kittens?" Yaz was grinning in spite of herself, some of the old delight in the Doctor coming back. 

That was the problem, wasn't it? All of the delight was tinged with resentment (embarrassment, maybe, or anger?) and all of the rage was tempered by fondness (love was a scary word to look at, even in the gentle golden glow of the TARDIS pillars). She couldn't be mad enough to leave, she couldn't be happy enough to… well, be happy. 

"Something like that, yeah," said the Doctor, and she looked pleased. "Well done, Yaz!"

Yaz tried to ignore the way her whole face got warm at the praise. 

"But," the Doctor added, "it was also being let loose in a cloning lab, which makes everything a little more complex." The Doctor wrinkled her nose up in that familiar way of hers that made Yaz's heart ache in complicated ways. "In my defense," she said, "it weren't my fault."

 _Is it ever?_ Yaz didn't say, because that would be cruel. 

"Let's save the dog-penguin people for another day," Yaz said instead, trying to keep her tone light. "Where else d'you wanna go?"

"You know me," the Doctor said. "I'm good for anywhere!" A pause, then; "almost anywhere. Some places I don't wanna go back to for a while. Or I've been banned from, and it can be a proper pain trying to evade a ban. Although if you really wanted to, we could wear disguises. Haven't gotten a chance to do a proper disguise lately!" 

"I could go for a beach," Yaz said, picking something at random when the Doctor paused for breath. 

Her parents had tried to talk her into going on a vacation to Spain. She'd turned them down, because what if the Doctor came back and found her missing?

"Ooo, love a beach," the Doctor said, and there was more of that manic cheer. Had she always been like that, and Yaz had just forgotten? "So what kinda beach? I know a really good one, it's got jewel sand - actual jewel, too, due to an interesting quirk in the -"

"A regular beach is fine," Yaz interrupted, before the Doctor could go on another tear. "Someplace with sand and an ocean is good for me."

"Right," said the Doctor. "I'll find us the beachiest beach what's ever beached!" More racing around, flipping switches, pulling levers, and then the TARDIS was rattling and roaring its way towards whatever beach it was that the Doctor had her hearts set on. 

It would be alright. It would be great! She was with the Doctor, she was getting to go on the missed vacation, maybe they'd have an exciting adventure on the way... it was all fine.

Yaz just needed to get over herself. It wasn't the Doctor's fault that she'd been gone, it wasn't as if she'd been staying away. Hadn't she rushed back to come get them? 

It would be fine. They'd have fun at the beach, Yaz would just get over herself, she'd be happy again, the Doctor would be happy again, everything would be _fine_. 

* * *

"So," the Doctor said, practically holding Yaz up bodily as the two of them made their way towards the medical bay, "could've done that a little better. In fairness," she added, as the doors whooshed open, "I didn't mean _mean_ to forget about the cone snails. They're a danger on Earth as well, y'know."

"Mmm," Yaz said. Her foot was swollen up and throbbing, and each step sent a little shock of agony up her leg. 

"In fact," the Doctor said, as Yaz was carefully sat on the exam table, "in a lot of ways, you're lucky, since _these_ are less dangerous than the ones on Earth! So good thing you had me along, isn't it?"

Yaz didn't have a response to that. She flopped back onto the table, and then she _howled_ , as the Doctor prodded the wound. 

"We've got the antidote right _here_ , not to worry," said the Doctor, and then something sharp and _cold_ was being pressed into Yaz's thigh, and Yaz hissed, and tried to jerk her leg away. 

The Doctor's hand was tight around Yaz's ankle, and she held on tight. "I know it hurts," the Doctor said, and her tone was soothing. That was almost more obnoxious than the chipper, and she bared her teeth in pain, or maybe it was rage. But what right did she have to be angry?

Yaz covered her face with both hands, rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. She'd never known that being angry could make her so _tired_.

Then again, when she was a teenager, she'd been both angry all the time and exhausted. Maybe that was a key?

"Penny for your thoughts?" The Doctor was pressing down on the wound, and that was agonizing enough that it jolted Yaz back to some kind of present. 

"Nothing in particular," Yaz said, because there were conversations she didn't want to have while she was having an open wound prodded. 

"I've seen you lookin' at me sidelong," the Doctor said. "Must be thinking _something_." 

"I'm thinkin' a lot of things," Yaz said, and then she winced, both from the probing of the wound and the way she sounded like a sulky teenager. 

"Just wanna hear 'em," the Doctor said, and there was a slightly scolding tone now. "I want to know what you're feeling, Yaz."

"You didn't," Yaz said, and then she mentally winced. That was mean. Then she physically winced, because the Doctor was squeezing her foot, and that was hurt more than it should have. 

"I did," the Doctor said, and now her voice was quiet. "I just... weren't able to inquire. But I did. I thought about you loads. Would've written you letters, if I'd had pens. And paper. And a way to send them. Back in time, too, because I were in the future."

"Of course," Yaz said, because what else was she supposed to say? The anger bubbling in the pit of her stomach seemed to be getting colder, and she stared up at the ceiling.

There was an awkward silence, then; "I'm gonna start bandaging this up," the Doctor said, and she gave Yaz's foot a pat. 

Yaz sighed, and gave a weary thumbs up. So many things bubbled up for her to say, but... what was there even to say? She lay there in silence, staring at the ceiling, and she let the Doctor wrap up her foot. 

* * *

“I found another beach,” the Doctor said, a few days later. 

Yaz, sitting on a sofa with her foot propped up, looked up from her book. “Another beach?” 

“Made sure there weren’t any things that’ll bite or scratch or anythin’,” the Doctor said. She sat down, and she leaned into the couch, her legs stretched out in front of her.

“Not in a beach mood,” Yaz said.

“What kinda mood are you in?” The Doctor sounded faintly… cranky, and that made Yaz look at her sidelong.

“What d’you mean?” Yaz stretched, curling her toes. Her foot was mostly healed, but she was still faintly wobbly. 

“Well, you weren’t in a beach mood. Or a mountain mood. Or a festival mood. Or a bookshop mood. And that I don’t get, because who doesn’t want to go to a good bookshop?”

“If you really want to go to a bookshop, we can go to a bookshop,” Yaz said. “Love bookshops. Love books.” She held the book she’d been reading up. 

“D’you want to go to a bookshop, then?” The Doctor perked up. “We can go on the biggest one in the universe. It’s got sections in languages that haven’t been invented yet!” 

“Maybe another time?” Yaz picked her book up. “Not in a traveling mood right now.” 

“Yaz,” the Doctor said, and now her voice had taken on a whiny tone, and Yaz’s jaw clenched, “what’s the point of being in a time machine that travels through space if you don’t want to do anything _fun_?”

“I do want to do fun,” Yaz said defensively. “I like traveling. It’s always exciting to travel. I just… need a bit of a break. That’s all.” She was faltering. She knew she was faltering, and all of the words she wasn’t saying were trying to boil their way out of her throat. 

“Yaz,” the Doctor said, “d’you want me to drop you off back home?” More of that manic, obnoxious cheer on the edges of her voice, and her tone was just casual enough that it was clear that she wasn’t being casual. 

“What?” Yaz’s eyes widened, her heart beating faster. _She’s gotten sick of me, she’s going to leave me, she hates me, it’s all over._

“D’you wanna go home,” the Doctor repeated. “D’you. Y’know. Wanna be here. Since you shoot down every offer I’ve offered, and even when we _are_ on fun adventures you end up sulking with a face like a slapped arse.”

“Excuse me?” Yaz sat up fully, and she crossed her arms across her chest. 

“Why are you _here_ , Yaz?” The Doctor’s expression was even more guarded than usual. “All you seem to do is shoot me angry looks and sigh and wander around the TARDIS like a lost soul in a mardy mood -”

“My mood is fine,” Yaz snapped, and the Doctor shot her a look. 

“But why are you here?” The Doctor repeated. “You’re traveling with me, but you don’t seem to want to _travel_ , and you seem like you’re mad at me all the time. Is it about the foot? I’m really sorry about that, honestly, sometimes I forget about all the things that you humans are -”

“It’s not about the foot,” Yaz said. _Don’t say it. Don’t say any of it._

“You’re right, because it was going on before the foot,” the Doctor said. “So tell me what’s bothering you.”

“I…” Yaz started to say, and then she shut her mouth.

“You?” The Doctor looked at Yaz expectantly.

“I didn’t know when you’d be back,” said Yaz, and now she was looking at the cover of her book. She ran her fingers over the raised letters, and she concentrated on that slow, familiar shape as she traced it, again and again. “I didn’t know _if_ you’d be back. And ten months is nothin’, to you. I know that you don’t live time like I do, but… well, I do.” Her voice was getting thick. She was going to start crying soon. 

“I know, and I am _so_ sorry.” The Doctor’s hand was resting on Yaz’s knee, and Yaz wanted to shove it away, wanted to grasp it tight. 

“I didn’t know if you were… if you were dead in a ditch, if you had gone off to Space Vegas to get married, or if you’d found someone else to travel with, or if you were still on Gallifrey, or…” There were more tears tracking down her face. “You were _gone_ , Doctor. You left me.”

“But I came back,” the Doctor said, her tone earnest. “I’ll always come back, Yaz, I promise. It’ll be the same as always, it’ll be you ‘n me, traveling the universe. When you feel like traveling.” She squeezed Yaz’s let a little tighter, dimpling the joggers.

“I _mourned_ you,” Yaz said, and now the anger was coming, hot and burning as acid. “Only it weren’t proper mourning, because sometimes I were certain you were dead and sometimes I were certain you weren’t, but you were gone and I was here. I lay in bed sometimes and I imagined you being dead, or imagined you being alive someplace else, or and I couldn’t even tell anyone, because Ryan and Graham had each other but my family didn’t know! And I looked for you and I waited for you, I was so _scared_!” She gave a wet, awkward sob. “You can’t just… you can’t just show up like that and pretend everything is fine after I’ve… I’ve _mourned_ for you!” 

“It’s not like I were off on a pleasure trip,” said the Doctor, and she removed her hand. The warmth from her skin seemed to vanish, and knit her own fingers together, to resist the urge to reach out for the Doctor’s hand again. When Yaz looked up at the Doctor, the other woman’s eyes were wide and the line between her eyebrows was deep. “I was in prison, Yaz. I wanted to write or call or text or… anything, but I couldn’t. I didn’t have my sonic, didn’t even have my own clothes!” The Doctor was avoiding eye contact, and she stood up, rubbing her hands together.

“That makes it worse,” Yaz mumbled, and she sniffed. “I know you didn’t…” Fuck, why was she _talking_ about this. It wasn’t the sort of thing that she talked about. She’d never been good at talking about her feelings, even at the best of times. “It makes it even worse because…” She sniffed, wiped her face, and her nose was probably running a well. She could never cry prettily. “I know it’s… I…” She tried to find the words. “I’m not supposed to…” Another sniff. “I just have all these _feelings_ , and I don’t know what to do with them, because they don’t just _go_!”

“Did you really mourn me?” The Doctor’s voice was surprisingly gentle. “You didn’t have to. I told you to live good lives.”

“You can’t just waltz into my life and then… tell me to live a good one when you leave!” Yaz stood up, and there was a twinge from her bad foot. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to… to make people feel things and then leave. Or at least, you don’t get to wonder why people might be cross with you.” Her voice was getting rougher, more snotty. “I felt things for you -”

“D’you not feel them anymore?” The Doctor had stopped pacing. She was still, the way she was usually only still when some kind of trap was about to spring. “Feelings change, that’s part of what makes them - mmf!”

Yaz kissed the Doctor. Why was she kissing the Doctor, when she’d been too embarrassed to even admit that she was _angry_? It was like all of those feelings were pouring out of her, and what if the Doctor disappeared again? What if she could never do this again, never have any chance? So really, how could she not put her hands on the Doctor’s cheeks and kiss her on the mouth, sweet and wet and desperate? She shoved all of the loneliness and grief and _rage_ with her tongue, her lips, her teeth against the Doctor’s own. Her wet cheeks were smearing across the Doctor’s, and the Doctor’s mouth was cooler than a human’s, but her mouth was sour and familiar and strange, the way every kiss was. 

They pulled apart, and the Doctor stared at Yaz with wide eyes, her lips swollen and her eyes dark. “This is a bad idea,” the Doctor said, and then she was kissing Yaz again, and her hands were in Yaz’s hair. 

They were walking backwards, and then Yaz was landing on the couch, and the Doctor was standing over her, looking down at her. “Yaz,” she said, “Yaz, bad things happen to humans that I become close to.” 

“We’re already close,” Yaz said. “You’ve already hurt me.” Maybe that was a low blow, but the blood was beating hot in her veins, her heart loud in her ears. 

“I didn’t mean to,” said the Doctor, and she dropped down to her knees. Yaz’s own knees winced in sympathy, and the Doctor’s face was pressing into Yaz’s belly. “It was beyond my control. Traveling with me will be like that. Sometimes things are out of my control…” The Doctor looked up at Yaz, and Yaz threaded her finger through the Doctor’s blond hair, tugging it. 

Yaz didn’t know what to say to that. The Doctor’s shoulders were shaking. 

“So many people have died,” the Doctor said. “Died, changed forever, injured, _ruined_. Every life I touch, I ruin, and I can’t… I can’t stay away.” She pressed a kiss into Yaz’s belly, and her arms were around Yaz’s waist. She was trembling. “I could recite a list of the human beings - not even the people, the _humans_ \- that I’ve killed, and we’d be here for the rest of your life, and then some.”

Well. That was melodramatic. And Yaz wasn’t really sure how to… respond. She kept running her fingers through the Doctor’s hair, as the Doctor trembled against her. 

“And now I’ve hurt you. Another wonderful, beautiful, gorgeous human. You’re so lovely, so clever, so brave, so _kind_ , and... being with me hurt you. Having me in your life hurt you, and I’m so _selfish_ that all I want is for you to stay.” Her fingers were digging into Yaz’s sides, hard enough to bruise. 

Yaz’s grief and rage and resentment went sour and hot in the back of her throat, like stomach acid. _What kind of a monster am I, to be mad at her?_ A flash of sense memory, of sitting in the big, empty TARDIS that had been filled with Daleks, staring at all the notes and feeling the terror climb up her back like a small furry animal, and the burning in her throat got worse. 

“I were in prison for thirty years,” the Doctor said, and now her voice was flat. “Kept count. Marked ‘em off like in a film. Always wanted to do that. Were actually a little novel, at first. Being in proper prison.” She sighed, a long, deep sigh. “Novelty wore off after the first… hour. Half hour. Fifteen minutes. And then it were just… talking to the cameras. Talking to the walls. Tellin’ myself stories.” 

_Imagine the Doctor, stuck in a box like that._ It hadn’t been… obvious. The Doctor was just… herself, her usual bubbly self. Which might have been more fake than Yaz had realized, come to think about, and that was a terrifying thought in and of itself, because she didn’t want to think that all she knew about the Doctor was a _lie_. 

“I was so lonely,” the Doctor said, and she wasn’t crying, but her voice was thick. “I missed you all so much. And now it’s just you and me, I can’t be losing you. I was so…” She sniffed. “I’ve spent too much time by myself. It… it does things to me. I made a promise to someone else, that I wouldn’t be alone. That I’d…” She trailed off, sniffed again, and she nuzzled into Yaz’s inner thigh. “I’m sorry, Yaz,” she said, and her eyes were red. “I’m so sorry.” 

“I…” Yaz licked her lips. How was she even supposed to respond to that? She was still mad, tinged with disgust at herself, guilt thick in her throat. 

“Let me make it up to you,” the Doctor said, and now her fingers were going to the waistband of Yaz’s trousers, trying to haul them down. “I’ll make it up to you, I’m sorry, Yaz, I didn’t…” 

Yaz covered the Doctor’s hands with her own. “I don’t want you to do this out of some… some misguided attempt at an apology? I don’t want an apology shag.” _Oh fuck, did I just say that out loud?_

“I mean,” the Doctor said, “you don’t want to travel, and I know you’re here for a good time -”

“I’m here to be with _you_ ,” Yaz said sharply, and she held on tighter to the Doctor’s hair. “I care about you. I... “ _love you_ , “care about you very much. Not just for… y’know, fun or seeing space or whatever. They’re all important to me, but...” She moved a hand down, and her whole face was getting hotter as she cupped the Doctor’s cheek, her thumb against the Doctor’s cheekbone. 

“I’ve wanted to do it before,” the Doctor said, and now she looked faintly sheepish. “I mean. Um. It’s… well.” She cleared her throat, looked down, then looked back up again. “Part of it is an apology. Part of it is just… me wantin’ to do it.” 

“Oh,” said Yaz. Um. 

“D’you want me to?” The Doctor’s eyes were very wide. “If you don’t want me to, I don’t have to, obviously, but I promise, it isn’t just because I feel guilty or want to make it up for you or… whatever.” She licked her lips. “I want… Yaz, I want to feel all of you. To know all of you. And it’s… it’s a _horribly_ stupid, selfish idea, but I want it... “ She kissed Yaz’s belly. “I want _you_ , so badly, Yaz. Please.” 

Yaz wasn’t thinking, when she lifted her hips up, shoved her thumbs into the waistband and shoving her joggers and her knickers down, all in one go. The Doctor’s fingers were chillier than Yaz expected them to be, as they pulled the fabric down her legs, then completely off. She was bare from the waist down, and the Doctor’s eyes kept darting from her face to her cunt to over Yaz’s shoulder. 

“This is dangerous,” the Doctor whispered, but her breath was ticklish and warm as it ruffled Yaz’s pubic hair. “It was _safe_ , to keep you lot at arm’s length. But that didn’t keep you safe, did it? You still got hurt, nothing can keep you from getting hurt.” She placed a soft, wet kiss to Yaz’s mound, and Yaz shuddered. “I’m going to be selfish,” the Doctor said, and there was a desperate _rawness_ to her voice. “I’m so sorry, Yaz, but I am going to be selfish.” 

And then her tongue came out, and she licked Yaz, from her entrance to her clit. She opened her mouth wider, taking Yaz’s vulva into her mouth, and she let her tongue squirm between Yaz’s labia. Arousal squirmed though Yaz, and she was already getting wet, sticky against the Doctor’s lips and dripping down the Doctor’s chin.

“You’re n-n-not… selfish for letting people in… for being c-close… fuck!” Yaz rocked her hips forward. The Doctor’s tongue was slippery and hot, swirling over Yaz’s clit. “It’s good to let people in,” Yaz said, and then the Doctor’s tongue was inside of her, which might have been some kind of irony or… something, or maybe Yaz’s brain was chasing itself in circles in ways she didn’t want to think about. 

The Doctor pulled off, and her lips were shiny with Yaz’s arousal - when had Yaz gotten so wet, that she could see it? “I don’t ever want to hurt you,” she said, and there was genuine anguish in her voice. Then she was licking Yaz again, pulling her towards the end of the couch so that she could get her tongue in deeper. She was fucking Yaz with her tongue, her thumb coming up to rub Yaz’s clit, and her other hand was clutching tightly at Yaz’s hip, so tight there would probably be bruises. 

Yaz didn’t have an answer to any of what the Doctor was saying. She bucked her hips, her head lolling back onto the sofa cushions and her mouth wide open as she panted. It was all so _much_ , and there were more tears dripping down her face, more emotions bubbling up through her. The memory of the anger was still lingering in her throat, even as the Doctor’s mouth fastened around her clit and sucked, the Doctor’s fingers were sliding inside of her. 

The Doctor was good at this, because of course she was. Yaz lost track of time, remembering it in snapshots - the sensation of sweat making her shirt stick to the undersides of her breasts, the Doctor’s hair tickling her inner thigh, the Doctor’s fingers holding tightly to hers. When had they started holding hands? And the Doctor’s tongue seemed to be doing magical things, and of course she knew how to do magical things. 

Yaz’s toes were up against the lining of the Doctor’s coat, because at some point Yaz’s ankles had gone to the Doctor’s waist, and the Doctor was fully dressed. Did that make it more perverse, more clinical, more sexy? It was all bubbling up inside of Yaz, and she didn’t know what she was feeling, how she was feeling it. She was moaning, but it was like a radio being tuned funnily - she’d catch snippets of it in her own ears, then go silent again, or be distracted by the beating of her own heart, the sensation of her lungs filling and deflating as the Doctor’s tongue kept pushing her towards orgasm. 

The Doctor’s fingers were slender and bony in Yaz’s hand, and they were thick and solid inside of her cunt, the tips curling forward and pressing against her g-spot. Her lips were soft, and her mouth pulsed when it settled on Yaz’s clit again. She spread the fingers inside of Yaz’s cunt, and she squeezed Yaz’s hand with her other hand a little tighter. She was clutching at her own hair, twisting it in her fist, and she gave a tug with every pass of the Doctor’s tongue. 

The orgasm built slowly, and Yaz wasn’t sure if that was due to all the emotions still fizzing around her like a shaken up bottle of pop, or maybe because it had been a while since she’d done… well, anything like this. She found herself hovering over that precipice, breathless, and the Doctor’s tongue came off of her clit, replaced by her thumb.

The Doctor looked like she was about to say something, opening her mouth, then closing it. Her eyes were full of something complicated, and then she did _something_ with her thumb that made Yaz’s whole body seize up. 

Yaz came, her cunt squeezing the Doctor’s fingers like a fist, and her fist clenched in time, her toes curling and her hips rolling up awkwardly. The pleasure was a pulse, and when it had finally let her go, she lay on the couch a sweaty, wrung out mess. Her hair was sticking to her face with sweat, and more sweat was dripping down her cheeks, her back. 

“Fuck,” Yaz said, her voice ragged, and then she winced, as the Doctor’s head came forward, tongue poised to begin licking again. She pushed the Doctor’s head out from between her legs, and she sighed when the Doctor pressed against her, mouth wet and salty with Yaz’s orgasm. 

“Did I do good?” The Doctor’s tone had a manic anxiety to it that would have put Yaz on edge, if she wasn’t still swimming in all the feel good post-coital hormones.

“Y’did great,” Yaz assured her, and she clutched the Doctor closer to her, nuzzling into the Doctor’s neck. She could smell her cunt on the Doctor’s face, and the Doctor’s hair was sticking to her face. “I wanna return the favor,” she added, “but… in a bed.”

“Probably a good idea,” the Doctor agreed, and she took Yaz’s other hand, squeezing it in her own. Yaz’s arousal had left her fingers pruny, and it smeared across the back of Yaz’s hand. “I’m sorry,’ she added, for the millionth time, and her voice was very quiet. 

Yaz sighed, and she pressed her forehead against the Doctor’s. All of those feelings were still there, under the surface. She could see them, like fish swimming under thick ice. But… they seemed calmer. Lesser. Maybe talking like this helped. 

So instead of saying _it’s alright_ or _I forgive you_ , she said, “thank you,” and she tried to ignore the terror that crept up her spine at being honest like that. 

Then she kissed the Doctor on the mouth, because that seemed to stave the terror off, and really, sometimes that was all a person could ask for.


End file.
